


Good Boys Gone Bad

by sushicorps (Inclinant)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: And too pure, Blink and you'll miss the ship, Connor is part of the Team, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Fowler is done, Gen, M/M, for now anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inclinant/pseuds/sushicorps
Summary: Fowler sighs. “It’s not that I don’t trust in your undercover abilities Connor, it's just that you can’t even say a swear-”Connor frowns, face scrunched up. “I can say it. Hank says it all the time!”From across the briefing table, Tina leans over to poke Wilson in the arm. “It’s like watching a puppy learn how to bark.”“...F-f...fuck?”Hank’s grin is unholy. “Good boy Connor. Now pay up, the lot of you.”This is the slow corruption of RK800.





	Good Boys Gone Bad

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [好男孩变坏啦](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690456) by [gattoindex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gattoindex/pseuds/gattoindex)



> For my friend, who out of the blue was like, can you imagine Connor trying really hard to say "Fuck"?  
> And I couldn't get it out of my mind and thus, this fic.

Hank Anderson swears like the proverbial sailors and it’s something the Detroit City Police Department is accustomed to (and Fowler is, unfortunately, resigned to.) Goddammit he’s tried swear jars and plastering courtesy posters all over the place, but his cops see murder and assault and death on a weekly basis, they can bloody well say a fuck or two if they want to, upper management be damned.

 

What it does make for, in light of Hank’s new partner however, is the strangest juxtaposition of Good Cop Bad Cop ever - if your Good Cop was an immaculately polite android armed with deadly puppy eyes..

 

Fowler really doesn’t want to think about the reports he’s read recently.

 

_...I just had to confess y’know. I couldn’t lie any longer. He was just too nice. Too nice! I couldn’t take the look in his eyes any longer, it was like kicking a puppy, I felt like I was disappointing the world-_

 

At least it’s really helping his arrest records. People are literally turning themselves in. Who would’ve thought?  Detroit’s hardest, surliest, meanest criminals, wrangled to justice by the sheer power of overwhelming niceness. Still, there’s a limit to how far being nice can get you.

 

“There is no way I’m sending Connor undercover into that red ice ring,” Fowler says finally, setting down the file in his hand heavily on his desk. That should really be the end of it, except Hank scowls, like one of those crazy helicopter parents whose kid has just been robbed of their chance at a goal at their football game.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Connor is more than capable of taking on an undercover role-”

 

“Really Hank? Really?” Fowler gestures out into the bullpen where he has no doubts Connor is probably doing something stupidly cute and distracting his entire unit.

 

“Look, he’s the best damn fighter in the whole unit and has an actual fucking database with all the information he could possibly need while undercover. And he can literally change his goddamn appearance, Jeffrey. Who else could be better? That sack of shit Reed?”

 

Fowler looks out to the bullpen.

 

Somehow, Connor has procured an actual puppy and the combination of the two is proving deadly for his unit’s productivity (sans Reed). Fowler can see the chances for his promotion at the end of the year just flying out of the window there, crashing sadly down with the rubble and the trashcans.

 

Damn Cyberlife. Damn Cyberlife designers. Damn whoever came up with the ability to weaponize puppy dog eyes.

 

Jeffrey Fowler’s not asking for much in life.

 

Before Cyberlife, before all of these androids and deviant cases, he had had a nice life.

 

A quiet, peaceful one with only the occasional murder and making sure his ragtag bunch of detectives didn’t fight amongst each other too much.

 

Sure, sometimes he had his hands full making sure Reed didn’t get offed for being the ass that he is and Hank doesn’t drink himself to an early grave (because the manpower shortage is real these days dammit.), but at least he hadn’t had to deal with this.

 

Down at the bullpen again Connor seems to have succeeded in teaching the puppy how to roll over and he breaks into delighted applause. Fowler isn’t quite sure if the series of ‘Awws’ that breaks out throughout the office is directed to the puppy or the android.

 

“I don’t know, Hank.”

 

Who else could be better? Probably someone who didn’t look like there was a perpetual damn halo over his head.

 

“Jeff-”

 

“That’s Captain to you, Hank.”

 

“Fine, Captain Fowler.”

 

Fowler pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“Hank, the kid can’t even say a damn swear word. And he listens to your tirade of fucks everyday. You know what these men are like, they’re gonna eat him alive. That’s if they don’t see right through him in the first place.”

 

“Trust me, he can do it,” Hank says, all calm and confident.

 

“I’ll bet on it.”

 

There’s something about Hank’s too smug expression that sets every single one of Fowler’s detective instincts are screaming, but you know what universe? Jeffrey Fowler is done. He’s done.

 

“Fine. You’re on.”

 

“...By the way, where the hell did that damn puppy come from?”

 

“Oh that? That’s Sumo Jr.”

 

* * *

 

By the time everyone shuffles into the meeting room for their weekly briefing, the bet has gone round the entire office and the pool is at a staggering 500 dollars because clearly the DPD is paying their cops too much if they can pull out so much for a silly bet like this. Reed bets a whole hundred, which Hank matches purely to piss him off.

 

They are all settling about the room when the android in question walks in, the damn puppy following at his heels. Fowler doesn’t even bother to ask questions anymore.

 

The briefing starts without a hitch, the usual review of the cases and where they are at, a discussion of how they are going to prioritise and delegate the workstreams and then...and then it’s time to discuss new cases.

 

Connor raises his hand, eyes hopeful.

 

“Captain Fowler? About the red ice case, I believe I would be a suitable candidate to send to infiltrate the ring. I have in-depth prior knowledge of the case, as well as the acquaintance of several of the known ring members through a pre-existing fake identity. They could serve as a good entry point undercover into the ring.”

 

Hank, the absolute bastard, is stifling this shit-eating smile and Fowler wants to deck his old friend in the face. Except he won’t, because while his overly attached android partner may be the epitome of politeness and manners like a 19th century governess, he still packs a mean punch.

 

Fowler sighs. “It’s not that I don’t trust in your abilities Connor, it is just that...look Connor, you can’t even say a goddamn swear-”

 

Connor frowns and holy hell, the damn kid’s eyes are serious.

 

“I can say it. Hank says it all the time!”

 

Fowler can already feel his impending headache.

 

From across the briefing table where they are all observing with rapt attention, Tina leans over to poke Wilson in the arm and whisper, “It’s like watching a puppy learn how to bark.”

 

“F…”

 

Connor steels his expression, frowns in concentration and grips his fists tightly. The room’s quiet, tense with a rising anticipation.

 

“...F-f...fuck?”

 

Hank’s grin is unholy. “Good boy Connor. Now pay up, the lot of you.”

 

“Hank,” Fowler scowls, but pulls his wallet out anyway. “You suck.”

 

“Tell me that again over this pile of sweet fucking money.”

 

Connor looks all-around at the room, bafflement clearly written all over his face. “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

 

“What’s going on is that we’re eating out tonight. Courtesy of the DPD,” He sing-songs at Reed, whose face is positively black, before proceeding to sweep his damn android out of the room.

 

Captain Fowler hates his unit so, so much sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Detroit fandom was an accident but I'm here anyway by the power of Connor's puppy dog eyes. 
> 
> I've half the mind to turn this into a series following Connor into the underworld where he infiltrates and uncovers red ice smuggling with the power of niceness, manners and puppy dog eyes. The poor gang members don't know what's coming for them hahaha.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sushicorps.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sushicorps/)


End file.
